My Savior's Secret

Chapter 2

We were in Rego’s grey sedan, on the barren highway along an occasional car or two, with no knowledge of leaving the airport. Wisps of orange and navy streaked the sky, and buildings rose far along the horizon.  

“I can stay at a hotel,” I threw out the suggestion.  

“You cannot. You’re not here just for the funeral. You got a family waitin’ for you.” Rego had insisted on me staying at their house, where his entire family, my mother’s family—my family—all lived. It was the natural thing to do, but I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to feel like a stranger that wandered into her mysterious second home.  

“Why did my parents live separately from you?” I wondered instead.  

He put on a stiff smile. “Our parents—your grandparents—weren’t too excited about a foreigner taking their daughter away. Status, remember?” I kept looking at him for more, and he waved it off. “They’re both dead now. It’s a long story, so don’t worry.” 

Don’t worry? I deserved to know everything about them. A family in name didn’t mean they were family in substance. Especially with a history like that. 

“Take me to a hotel,” I repeated.  

His jaw worked, becoming bonier. “I would, but this isn’t Canada. You’ll get in trouble real fast on your own.” Right, even maps bailed on this blip on earth. “Streets ain’t safe out there either. Worse nowadays.”  

Not having the strength to argue or probe, I rested my head against the window and gazed at the remote Etherian landscape. I’d already resorted to the risk of boarding a private plane out of the country and following a stranger in his car. Being safe, sound, sane, smart—none of it mattered anymore.  

Rego exited the highway and the streets narrowed into a town rich with vast fields of crop and tall mahogany streetlights with hanging lanterns. An overhead board greeted incomers. Welcome to Weverin. 

We passed lit plazas and small neighborhoods before rolling up a secluded street winding around a lush garden. Elevated amid the garden was a Georgian mansion, glowing with discs of white lights, overseeing a lake on one side and an endless forest area on the other. Not what I’d expected from Rego’s sedan. The stoned path split off towards the garage where Rego parked the car.  

We went inside the foyer and more grandeur hit me. Massive ballroom at the left topped with high-strung chandeliers. Gleaming staircase in the middle. On the left—I kept my eyes on the marble tiles. My mother had grown up here. Why did I feel so disconnected? 

Voices emanated from the living room, and Rego left my suitcase at the foot of the split staircase before ushering me towards the chattering couple. They sat on a curved white couch among many generously spaced out under the high-rise tray ceiling.  

“Scarlet’s here,” Rego announced. 

A man with a similar triangular face but shorter hair peppered with grey looked over the couch. The woman beside him had already left the couch and threw her arms around me. The whole family must be the touchy kind.  

“Oh, dearie! You’re finally here!” She smelled of rich perfume like in those samples from the overpriced cosmetic section. “I’m so sorry for your mother. So sorry.” Roses and velvet?

“Mildred, easy,” Rego said. For a second, I thought he’d tell her to be gentle as if I was a glass figurine on the verge of breaking. She finally released me. 

Blonde curls framed her round face, pearls donned her long neck, not a wrinkle in sight, and tears glistened in her baby blue eyes in their own elegancy. Any sign of imperfection on the primp woman was her fading mauve lipstick. 

“I couldn’t help it,” she said, sniffling and rubbing my shoulders. Her fragrance had lapped my nose twice already. “It’s so good to see you. All grown up. A true lady.”  

Talk, Scarlet. This was your family whether you liked it or not. Your only remaining family. Make good. “It’s nice to see you, too.” 

The other man had joined her, his dark-grey eyes completely lacking warmth in contrast. It must be weird indeed. Out of duty or sympathy, they’d invited me. They must’ve known I hadn’t come when my dad died. They hadn’t accepted my parents, but perhaps they wanted to accept me.  

“Scarlet, was it?” the man asked, voice deep and imposing.   

Rego spoke for me. “Yes, Shiloh’s daughter.” Glass figurine. “Scarlet, this is Boyne, my older brother. Your second uncle.”  

Mildred took my hands, eyes painfully pitiful. “I’m Boyne’s wife. Your aunt. You would’ve met your cousins, but Rubi’s at her studio and Darian’s not home.” My hands tried to get loose from her death grip. “I get jealous whenever I hear about Shiloh’s lovely child in Canada. I always regretted not having your parents stay with us.”  

I tugged my hands out, voice thick. “If not in the same house, at least you were in the same country as them.” She blinked at the abrupt statement. “There’s nothing to envy.”  

Boyne’s forehead crumpled. “This must be difficult to adjust to, but your mother always wished us meet.” Really? Did she really? This was an alternate world which I was dying to leave yet still succumb to the desire of taking a break from my jaded, directionless life in Canada. 

“‘Course, we wanted to meet you, too,” Rego added, appearing behind me and putting his hands on my shoulders. “You’re our niece. Our beloved sister’s only child.” 

I didn’t need an explanation from these people, but I did need an explanation on behalf of my parents. Anything.  

“When’s the funeral?” I asked. “Can I—” I’m sorry, Miss Spears. It was an accidental home fire. The body suffered third degree burns. “Can I see her?”  

Mildred and Boyne shared a look. Mildred took my wrists gently. “There’s no viewing, dear, not in that condition. We’ve arranged a visitation. She’s still part of the clan in our hearts.” More people. Fantastic.  

“The funeral isn’t until that night, so take a few days to rest,” Boyne told me. He nodded to Rego. “Take her to her room.” 

Mildred hugged me again but released me without prompt. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”  

Rego bid the couple goodnight, placed a careful hand on my back and directed me to the stairs. I carried the suitcase up myself and followed him past the intricate corridors to a room at the far end of one.  

“Make yourself at home,” he said. Home. Did it come that easy to them?  

I waited until he left, closed the door and locked it. At last, I was alone. I opened my suitcase to grab a pair of clothes and filled the tub in the en suite bathroom. I stripped off my clothes and sunk into the water, nose below the surface.  

My hair floated above the water like spilled ink, mind emptied to the heady warmth of the bath.  

Had my mother been raised here? In this house? Had she used a bathroom like this? In a tub like this? Saw her own hair drift in this clear water? Lavender soap bubbles clinging on the surface?  

A tingle crawled up my throat, and I submerged my head in the water. Submerged the sensation before it reached my eyes.  

After drying myself and changing into clothes that reminded me of real home, I slipped under the plush covers and sunk into the white, queen-sized mattress. It was worlds apart from my flat, dingy twin bed at an off-campus house I rented with two roommates. Vivian and Farida were the only ones who knew I’d left the country. Not exactly friends, but my remaining connections after years of jumping social circles.  

If they’d called me, I wouldn’t know. My phone was out of coverage, and it was for the best. I wouldn’t know if they missed me or not. Probably not.  

Lying here, staring into the dark warping darkness of the ceiling, I couldn’t find anything left in me. Left for me.  

Sure, my parents willed me inheritance which wouldn’t be in my pocket until half a year at least, but that didn’t make up for anything. I lost the chance to graduate from my shithole of a college. No, I let go of the chance. I was tired of being stupidly busy carrying my life forward with no answers. Not having time for commitments. 

It didn’t matter anymore. I left everything. I had nothing to do. I wanted to do nothing. Leave adult responsibilities. Leave grief. Leave curiosity. This, now, was perfect. A vacation for my soul. An excuse to get away from it all and forget myself. Even for a little while. 

Not for my dead parents. Not for this newfound family. For myself only.